Promises
by Juxtaposie
Summary: Set of 30 drabblesoneshots for the 30Kisses lj community. Senseless sometimes angsty Kataang fluff. You were warned...
1. The Color Of

**The Color Of**

For #1 - look over here

* * *

"Hey Katara, look over here," Aang said gently from his spot across the fire.

She did.

He held a small blue blossom up in one hand, and closed an eye as if to sight for aim across the fire and into her left pupil. He frowned.

"What?" Katara asked, eyebrows drawing down as she attempted to puzzle out what exactly was going through his mind.

Rising, he walked around the fire and sat down beside her; close.

He held the flower up against her cheek, just below her eye.

"What?" she asked again, smiling at the look of utter concentration on his young face.

"This flower…" he began, almost proudly. "This flower is…. it's…" He tapered off into a mumble, blushing.

She took the flower from him. His hand was cool.

"What about it?" she asked, twirling it between her fingers and wondering at the color in his cheek.

Aang glanced up at her, still blushing, and said, "It's the same color as your eyes."

Her chest felt too small for an instant – or maybe her heart felt too big – and before she could begin to blush she leaned over and pressed her lips against his slightly dirty travel-stained cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked after a moment's silence.

"Nothing," she said with a smile, and laid down to sleep.

* * *

AN: I recognize that the majority of these are going to be major peices of crap (with no story line) and I recognize that you, as an intelligent reader, can also recognize it. Know this: these were written for my own enjoyment. I don't expect much praise, but I do expect good manners. All you little Zutara fangirls can bite me. You're more than welcome to your opinion, but I sure as hell ain't gonna claim it as my own.

Kataang Rulz! Peace out!


	2. Small World

**Small World**

For #2 - news;letters

* * *

The war had ended: officially. 

The news was pouring in from all four countries. The armies of the Fire Nation had retreated or surrendered once Ozai's death (and subsequent defeat) had become common knowledge. People were dancing in the streets, drinking themselves silly and preparing feasts to celebrate the freedom they had regained.

And in Katara's very small world, the price of that freedom had been surprisingly small. Her fight with Azula had left her with a few burns up her right arm and a split lip. Sokka had lost two fingers on his left hand, and had found a broken nose and a black eye. Toph and Zuko had both been mildly concussed.

Even Aang, whose injuries had been by far the worst, was going to survive and move on to a relatively normal existence, though he would probably never be able to use the fingers of his right hand again, so badly burnt was his arm.

Katara had thought him dead, when she'd found him - in Ozai's throne room, typically, slumped againt a pillar off to the left and cradling his ruined arm. There had been silence, and blood, and she had screamed and screamed but he hadn't answered. She had cried - wailed, really - and that had woken him.

"Ow," he'd said softly, before coughing up the little bit of blood that had strayed into his throat.

She had just laughed, still crying, taken his face in her hands, and kissed him.

Aang yelped and coughed and smiled and blushed and then politely asked - as though he was not in excruciating pain - if she would be so kind as to heal his arm to the best of her abilities. She had been more than happy to comply.

* * *

AN: Oy vey... 


	3. New Spring

**New Spring**

For #3 - jolt

* * *

There was still a tiny jolt – sometimes, when the hours had been long and the jealousies and petty squabbles of the people weighed heavily on his mind – in waking up to realize he was not alone; that there was a woman sleeping beside him and a baby girl in the cradle at the foot of the bed, and life was more full and beautiful than he had ever expected it to be. 

Aang had not expected to survive his fight with Ozai: really, what chance did a child have against an experienced soldier – a well-trained, well-armed, well-guarded megalomaniac with more than enough fire power to burn his own country to the ground? He had been expecting to die a very slow and painful death doing what he was meant to do – defeating the Fire Lord. Of course, there was no doubt in his mind that he would be taking Ozai with him, but the knowledge of his impending demise had still stung. He had taken nothing but joy out of his experiences with the world, and had given back nothing but kinds acts and good will. Didn't he deserve just the tiniest bit of the happiness he was going to be dying for on behalf of the rest of the world? The Avatar was not usually known to have a long lifespan. Kyoshi had been quite young at the time of her death – barely 30 – and Roku, who had lived into his 70s before finally dying of old age, was considered ancient by normal standards as well as Avatar standards. It was simply his fate, then. He would fight, and he would die, and eventually the cycle would renew and he would be born again – but not _him_, not _Aang_, because the new Avatar wouldn't live his life, or have the memories and friends that he did now.

Idly, Aang wondered if Roku had ever had thoughts like these and knew immediately, instinctively, that he had.

There was also a jolt, a tiny wrenching of his heart, when he heard his daughter cry – just as she was doing now. He knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she was perfectly all right, but something in the back of his mind whispered dark things about death, and danger, and Fire Nation soldiers.

Katara stirred beside him, rolled over with an exhausted groan, and hoisted herself out of the bed.

When she returned moments later, carrying a tiny infant wrapped in white bedclothes, Aang sat up.

"Go back to sleep," she said with a yawn, and settled back into the pillows to placate her crying daughter with a meal.

Aang shook his head, yawning as well, and scooted closer to lay his head on Katara's shoulder and watch the baby.

Spring – true spring – had been a completely new experience for Katara and Sokka the first year they had traveled together. Aang had, of course, been delighted to share his knowledge, and Katara had been so moved by the life and beauty that she had taken it on as her duty to declare the virtues of the season. Their daughter had been born on the night of the fourth new moon of the year, with spring blooming outside. They had called her Sura, which meant 'new spring' in the old tongue of the Water Tribes.

As he dozed away on Katara's shoulder, one hand reaching out to stroke the soft brown wisps growing across Sura's tiny head, Aang realized – with another tiny jolt – that he had never been so happy in his life.

* * *

AN: Having not decided whether or not it would be appropriate for the Avatar to take a wife, I tactfully avoided all mentionings of it. 


	4. Words in Silence

**Words in Silence**

For #4 - our distance and that person

* * *

There were words in silence: heavy, hurtful words that echoed over the fire and around their tiny camp and out into the woods until everyone knew what was going on without really knowing at all.

With every step closer to Ozai's defeat, every league further into Fire Nation territory, their danger multiplied. They were coming across patrols at least once every two days. Most they could circle around, but some confrontations could not be avoided. They were traveling hard, and on little sleep; with Azula hounding them and an entire nation to cross, it could only be expected that the mood was tense and emotions were running high.

Aang accepted this. He had expected it; Katara's endless mothering, Sokka's increased sarcasm, Toph's inability to contain her irritation. He'd even known that counting on the Fire Nation Prince would be a gamble, and that it was a gamble he had to make because they couldn't hope to get through the city and into the palace without him.

What he had not counted on was Katara jumping to Zuko's defense; Katara taking a hit that had been meant for the traitor, a hit that could have been avoided if Zuko had been smarter, if he hadn't gotten angry. Aang hadn't counted on having his heart stop – having everything inside him go absolutely still and then begin to accelerate as the avatar state tried to assert itself.

But she'd sat up with a cough, wiping blood from her nose and calling that she was all right, and reality had reasserted itself and he was back in control of his body and all its powers.

Zuko called her on it at dinner - because he could never just accept help when it was given - and rather than watch them start another fight, like they had done almost every night, Aang stepped in.

Then – and this was what _really_ caught him off guard – Katara had defended Zuko, and something inside Aang had gone sour. He knew, immediately, that there was no basis for any type of jealous emotion over such a small act. She hadn't meant anything by it. Katara was just doing what she did best: helping someone pick up their pieces.

Still, it stung. Really, she might as well have kissed him.

_Don't think that!_ He told himself immediately after. _You'll make it happen, you moron! You want that about as much as a kick in the head…_

The night was quiet as he kept a look out for Fire Nation patrols.

* * *

AN: I do in no way, shape, or form condone Zutara. This is the closest we'll get to it, I think... 


	5. Promise, 1

**Promise**

For #5 - Hey, you know...

* * *

"Hey, you know what?" Aang said suddenly, softly, leaning over her to shield her from the rain in a vain attempt to keep her dry. "I just thought of the number one reason you can't possibly die now." 

Katara smiled vaguely – she had lost so much blood – and asked in a hoarse whisper, "What's that?"

"If I tell you, you have to promise not to die," Aang answered, and Katara couldn't tell if he was crying or if it was just the rain.

"I'll see what I can do," she replied, laying her good hand across his as she turned into his embrace and closed her eyes.

"No!" He almost yelled, shaking her gently. "Don't close your eyes! Stay awake, Katara! Just hold on; help's coming!"

She groaned in protest, but opened her eyes.

"Tell me why I can't die," she demanded suddenly, her voice cracking.

"I love you."

She let out a breath, and smiled bitterly even as she began to cry.

"Picked a hell of a time to tell a girl," she said, choking as something thick and coppery began to rise in the back of her throat.

He laughed dryly, humorlessly, and said, "We both know I have the worst timing the world."

"I'll say," she answered before blacking out.

tbc

* * *

AN: Wow, I so lied... maybe there is a bit of storyline in there, eh? 


	6. Promise Interlude

**Promise Interlude - White Hot**

For #6 - the space between dream and reality

* * *

Katara's mind floated somewhere in the space between dream and reality as her body was carried to the nearest healer; by her brother, who was running as fast as he could with her in his arms. He had grown tall in the few years that had passed – he would be nineteen next fall – and he had proved himself to be as capable a warrior as any bender. He was smart, and strong, and fast, and he knew now that all of it was not enough. He had already seen his mother's passing, and Yue's, and he had been unable to help either one, but he'd be damned before he let Katara die. 

So he ran faster.

Aang followed numbly, barely jogging. It pained him to think that his sluggish feet would keep him from being with Katara in what could very likely be her final moment, but he couldn't bear the thought of watching her die. Instead he thought about spring, and the rain soaking into his clothes.

When Katara dreamt, she dreamt of fire. It burst from her wound and burned her skin until her stomach was nothing but black char and ash. There was water as well, and wind, whipping across her arms and legs, soaking through her clothes and driving into her eyes. The earth pressed sharply into her back as she lay. She was cold and wet and hurting, and there was so much heat in her stomach – fire, licking across her torso to consume her limbs – that she couldn't decide whether she should cry out or keep silent.

There were faces too; some she knew and others she didn't; voices she recognized speaking a language she knew she had spoken once but could no longer grasp.

Aang was there. When he kissed her everything fell silent, and the wind and rain subsided. The ground grew soft.

The fire burned white hot, and she would have screamed but for the strange mouth over her own.

* * *

AN: I wasn't going to write another piece of this tiny little plotline, but I felt the prompt warranted it... 


	7. Unsettling

**Unsettling**

For # 7 - superstar

* * *

Having lived all of his twelve years with the monks, in virtual anonymity, it always surprised Aang that people knew who he was. It wasn't difficult to recognize that, as the last living airbender, he was almost undoubtedly the Avatar. No matter where they went, no matter how rural and poor the village, there was always _one_ person – at least – who was educated enough to recognize the tattoos, to know about the cycle of reincarnation, and to recognize the significance of both. 

It was strange, to be honored and revered by people he didn't know, who didn't know him. It was unsettling, to be looked upon as the salvation of the world: the one who would bring about an end to the Fire Nation's century of war and bloodshed.

Mostly, it was disheartening, to be treated as a friend and honored guest when all they wanted from him was a share of the power. All people were not like this, of course. There were a select few who wanted to help: to give aid in any way they could, whether it was a bed for the night, or a hot meal; an armed guide, or a precious manuscript to further his learning.

But every one of them expected more than he could give. When they asked his opinion on war, or politics, or the economy, his first instinct was to blanch and shy away. He knew very little of war, even less of politics, and next to nothing about economy. He was twelve: they wanted an educated, charismatic young man who would lead them to victory over their oppressors. The best he could give was assurance, with the faith and hope only a child possesses, that the war would end. He promised everyone who ever asked that he would beat back the Fire Nation and put a stop to the fighting. A promise was all he could give.

Only his friends ever seemed to see him for what he truly was: a child taking on a task that would daunt the most hardened warrior; an extremely talented and capable child, but a child nonetheless. He loved them for it, for accepting him as he was and for not asking the impossible of him.

Sometimes, long after the fire had gone out and the others had drifted, he would sit up and think. Mostly he thought about the end of summer; about the impending battle and what might have to be sacrificed for Ozai's defeat. He thought about his life as it had been, and his life as it was now, and his life as he hoped it to be. He thought about Toph's lessons – the going was still very difficult – and about the Fire Nation princess who was tailing them. He thought about Katara and the kiss. Sometimes, if the moon was bright, Katara would sit up with him. Whether or not they talked – because talking was not always necessary to convey their feelings; a gentle hand, or an arm around the shoulder was enough - Aang always felt better about life when the sun came up the next morning.

* * *

AN: I realize how droll this one was, but I love calm moments like this. I've never felt more connected to my boyfriend than when we're sitting outside holdin hands tlakig about the dumb things that bother us. Go fig. Don't kill me. I know it's boring. But after all that drama in the last installment, I needed a change of pace. We'll get back to Katara shortly. 


	8. Sweet

**Sweet**

For #8 - our own world

* * *

"You don't have to do this," Katara said suddenly from her place by the window, turning to face him. "No one will think any less of you if you refuse." 

"You might," he answered honestly, and though the words stung to be said, there was a certain amount of truth to them.

She looked pained for a moment, and then moved to sit beside him on the bed.

"This isn't about me," she responded firmly, fiddling with her hands in her lap so that she had something else to look at. "This is about what you think is best."

"What if I don't know what's best?"

Katara looked up at him with a wan smile, and cupped a hand around his cheek

"You're the Avatar. As long as you pretend you know best, no one out there is going to know the difference."

"You will," he responded with a small smile, but now he was just being difficult to get a rise out of her.

"I'll be right behind you, no matter what you do," she replied honestly, and in the ensuing silence she leaned in to kiss him.

The world began to dissolve in that kiss, until there was nothing left but the room they occupied together, and even the edges of the room grew fuzzy the longer the kiss lingered. For a few moments Aang forgot about everything he had done and everything that was still left to do. This place, this room, was their own little world where nothing mattered – nothing _existed_ – but the two of them. Katara was warm and sweet and everything he had ever wanted.

And when that thought grew too hot, too demanding, he pulled away.

She sighed, and stood, pulling him up with her.

"Come on," she said, trying to pretend her knees weren't weak and her voice wasn't shaking. "You're fans are waiting."

And she lead him from the room.

* * *

AN: If I need to tell you they're older (not much older, but older) you need some help. As to what he's about to do? God only knows. I liked the set-up. 


	9. Brush

**Brush**

For #9 - dash

* * *

As much as Aang loved gliding – and air-scootering and free falling – there was something to be said about running; just making a mad dash across a field of short green grass, feeling the muscles in your legs contract and lengthen and begin to burn as they worked, the wind in your face, the ground firm beneath your feet. 

There were all sorts of games and races that involved running. Tag was the best: he _loved_ tag. He had played tag with the other children at the Southern Air Temple. He regularly played tag with Momo and Sokka – usually over an apple or another piece of fruit. He had played tag in training – Katara was much gentler than Toph and Zuko – and once, not long after the Fire Prince and his uncle had joined their group, there had been a massive uprising in energy and good humor and everyone had joined in a game of good, old fashioned touch tag: legs only, strictly no bending.

Aang's memories of this game remained very vivid throughout his entire lifetime for several key reasons. The first reason was that, during this game of tag, Zuko had had his first conversation with a member of the group that did not end in a fight. He had even participated in part of the game: when Toph had thumped him sharply on the shoulder, he had stared at her, turned to his Uncle, tapped him lightly on the chest, and jumped away. Aang was not all that fond of the exiled prince, but he was even less fond of fighting, and there was a tiny part of Aang that knew if they could just get Zuko to open up, the rest of the Fire Nation would be no problem.

The second reason was much better than the first. Toph had _squealed_. Aang knew that if he ever had to explain this out loud it would sound beyond silly, but there it was. Toph had always been such a serious girl. She participated in all conversations and most games, and had always had a sarcastic, witty remark waiting to be loosed, and even though she had brightened up considerably, there had always been something so indescribably sad about her. When Sokka took a bit of initiative and dove under her, catching her in the stomach and rolling her onto his shoulder so that he was carrying her like a sack of potatoes, she had let out the most childishly delighted laugh Aang had ever heard. It was the first time she had laughed like that, and she continued to do so as she had kicked and squirmed, finally tripping Sokka over a rock before rolling off his back and landing unsteadily on her feet.

The third reason was above and beyond even the second: Katara had kissed him. On the mouth. In front of everyone.

_After_ that she had tripped him and run off laughing.

But still. She had kissed him – quickly, a rough brush against his mouth just before his hand would have landed on her shoulder – and everyone had seen.

Sokka'd had to explain to Toph why he was laughing so hard: she couldn't see the blush on Aang's face.

* * *

AN: I recently realized that i like Toph. This drabble made me smile; somehting silly to counteract the sadness that is Promis 


	10. Lightning and Thunder

**Lightning and Thunder**

For #10 - #10

* * *

"What are you doing?" Aang asked, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He shivered. The cave in which they had taken shelter was growing chilly in the late spring rain. 

Katara, standing near the mouth of the cave, looked back at him for a moment and then out again to the driving rain. Lightning flashed, illuminating her silhouette and splashing highlights across the walls. Thunder rumbled – Aang felt it more than heard it, and Toph rolled over fitfully – and the rain continued to beat down.

"Katara?"

She glanced back at him again, almost as if she hadn't heard him the first time, and said, "I'm counting."

"Counting what?" he asked, pulling his blanket around himself and trying his hardest to curl up into a ball the way Momo did.

"The thunder!" Toph said irritably, sitting up and throwing her pillow at Aang. "People are trying to sleep here! If you wanna talk, take it outside!"

"It's storming like crazy out there!" Katara protested, but before she could make more of an argument Aang had bolted from his bedroll, grabbed her hand, and pulled her out into the rain.

"Counting thunder?" he asked again, speaking loudly over the elements.

Katara nodded, blinking the rain out of her eyes.

"How do you count thunder? _Why_ do you count thunder?" he asked before she had a chance to elaborate.

She laughed.

"You wait for lightning to strike," she said, wrapping her arms around herself and looking towards the sky. "And then you count the seconds until the thunder. You can tell if the storm is coming or going."

Aang smiled – he always smiled when he learned something new – and looked eagerly skyward.

When a bolt of lightning split the clouds, they counted together, "One… two…" and then the thunder pealed.

They waited in silence for the next crack of lighting, and counted, "One… two… thr-" before the thunder rumbled.

"See?" Katara asked delightedly, turning to him with a smile. "The storm is getting farther away. Let's try it one more time."

This time when the lighting crackled, Aang gave a sharp tug on Katara's hand – which had somehow made it into his own – and kissed her. He pulled away when the thunder startled him.

Katara, whose eyes were still closed, tilted her head to the side as if thinking. She opened her eyes, looked at him questioningly, and said, "Ten whole seconds?"

It took Aang a few moments to realize she was talking about the time between the lightning and the thunder, and he laughed.

"It was more like three."

Katara blushed deeply and murmured "oh" before turning to go back into the cave.

* * *

AN: Anyone noticed my newfound love for Toph? I reread this drabble and said "Meh," but posted it anyways. 


	11. Promise, 2

**Promise, 2**

For #11 - gardenia

* * *

When Aang arrived at the healer's tent – a dry, warm thing that smelled of earth and herbs and incense – Sokka was laying Katara down on a low bed and the healer, an old, bent woman, was leaning over her. The woman, whom Aang recognized as one of the Earth Kingdom healers that had followed the army to war, was pulling clothing from Katara's body, peeling it back from the sticky area around the wound. 

"Arrow?" she asked, not bothering to look up as she began to reach for her tools.

Aang came in out of the rain and managed to find his voice in time to answer, "Yes."

"Left the arrowhead in," she observed, noting the few inches of broken shaft protruding to the left of Katara's navel. She gave him a grim look and muttered, "Good boy," before turning to a low table to collect a vial and few pouches.

Aang nodded, because he had lost his voice again, and Sokka laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I smell gardenias," Katara murmured, turning her head to glance blearily at her surroundings. "And lavender…"

"Incense," the healer answered gently, laying a hand across Katara's forehead. "To help keep you calm, dear. One of you," she said to the boys, who were now standing idly by the entrance, "the small one, help her drink this. You," she pointed to Sokka, "get her sitting up and hold her still."

Numbly, Aang moved to the bedside and took the small earthenware vial the healer offered. He knelt by Katara's pillow, and touched her cheek. Cloudy blue eyes opened and made a desperate attempt to focus before falling shut again. He called her name.

"Just tip it down her throat," the healer said when Katara didn't respond. "She'll swallow it, or choke and then swallow it."

Aang's hands felt like lead as they uncorked the tiny bottle. Gently, slowly, he eased an arm under Katara's shoulders, raised her head as best he could, and poured a thick green liquid into her open mouth. She coughed, and started, and swallowed and then her breathing evened and her eyes glazed over until she was staring at the ceiling with an expression of the utmost boredom on her face.

Sokka took Aang's place, wrapping his arms around his sister and pulling her up to lean against him.

"Your friend is very lucky, you know," the healer said as she dabbed a dark brown paste on the area around the wound. "Another inch over and she might not be alive right now."

Aang looked up, hope in his eyes, before the woman continued, "Of course, that doesn't mean she hasn't already bled out." Then she took a hold of the arrow shaft with both of her slim bony hands, and gave it a very tiny, gentle wiggle. Katara let out a deep, sudden breath and froze.

"All right," the woman said, looking at Sokka. "Hold tight, now. Don't let her squirm."

She began to push the arrow shaft farther into Katara's side, her left hand guiding the arrowhead, the palm of her right against the broken end of the shaft.

Katara let out a high, keening wail, and Aang stumbled outside the tent and sat down heavily in the mud. He clamped his hands over his ears to block out the sounds of the pain and tried to think about what her voice sounded like when she was strong and well. She would laugh and say it was nothing, and open the folds of her tunic to show him the soft, unmarred plain of her stomach. She would reach for his hand and lay it against her belly, fingertips against dark skin, and lean forward to kiss him when his cheeks grew warm and he began to stammer.

He didn't realize he was crying until a pair of feet splashed into view, spraying mud across his shoes and breeches.

* * *

AN: So... I'm feeling kinda blah about this one, though I am rather proud of the mild erotica in the second to last paragraph. Haha. Don't expect any smut from me, you dirty fangirl!.. I haven't gotten nearly enough reviews for that! 

God, I'm such a review whore!


	12. Long Gone

**Long Gone**

For #12 - in a good mood**  
**

* * *

Good moods were things that did not come to Katara often anymore. They were things from a world long gone: a world where summer's end was far off, and she had never known the anxiety and discomfort of spending a night running instead of sleeping. 

She remembered a time when their situation had not been so desperate: when hope had been high and there was nothing Aang would not – could not – do to make her feel better. Now there was earthbending and firebending to learn; now there were failures to contend with, and a crazy, ruthless princess who wouldn't think twice about sacrificing an entire city if it meant she could take the Avatar and his companions home to her father in chains.

But there were some things, good things, that had not existed – could _never_ have existed – if her life had gone on as it had before finding Aang. There was strength in her she had never known she possessed: a master waterbender, full of beliefs and convictions, lurking just beneath the surface of her skin. Sokka had grown taller, faster, more sure of himself.

And, of course, there were the kisses. They were little things: gentle, innocent things exchanged between a boy and a girl in a world that wanted them to grow up too quickly; the light, warm touch of a set of lips to a cheek that usually needed washing - or sometimes, if one of them was feeling daring and grown-up, a quick brush of mouth against mouth.

Even that small pleasure would change soon. When summer ended, so would everything else. Katara was not so naïve as to think that they would all survive the coming battle, and even if they did…

Still, at least for now, she had the kisses. And sometimes that thought was all it took to put her in a good mood.

* * *

AN: Wow, I'm really proud of this one for some reason... And I've just realized that I have Katara thinking about her brother as much as she thinks about Aang. Wierd. 


	13. First Calling

**First Calling**

For #13 - excessive chain

* * *

When Aang had first laid eyes on Katara he had known he was tied to her. It had been like waking up from a bad dream: his world had come crashing down around him and he had only made it worse by running. When the storm had caught them, when Appa had fallen and the sea had risen up, Aang had hoped more than ever that the monks had been wrong: that he was not the Avatar and some other boy, older than he –16 at least – would suddenly stand and say, "The Avatar? Why, I've been here all along!" 

Then time had stopped, and when it had started again his first thought had been for the eyes of the pretty girl who had looked down at him from the hood of her heavy winter coat, whose arms were holding him up. She had seemed familiar even then, like a room from long years past that had not been visited in a long time but had not changed at all.

Those eyes were the first pull of Destiny's chains. In her he found his first calling: to give himself up so that she and her people would be left in peace. It had been easy to walk into that ship and allow himself to be bound knowing that she was safe; even if he had only been twelve and could not have known it was possible for a man to love a woman as much as he would come to love her.

Destiny was strongest when he looked at her, when he held her in his arms and kissed her. If ever he needed assurance that his path was the right one, all he had to do was look to her, to the family and friends he had gathered along the way, and he knew that being tied to something he could not control – being chained to a fate he could not change – was nothing to be afraid of.

* * *

AN: Meh. Almost halway done... 


	14. Music Box

**Music Box**

For #14 - radio-casette player

* * *

"What's that?" Aang asked, nodding towards the small copper box lying amidst the jumble of other trinkets spread across Katara's lap. 

"Nothing," she answered easily, picking up a ball of tangled bits of string and frowning at it. "Zuko gave it to me."

Aang's mouth suddenly tasted sour, but Katara continued, "and by gave, I mean I asked what it was, he threw it at me, wandered off, and never asked for it back," and the sour taste subsided.

Aang picked up the little box, trying not to think too much about his fingers brushing against her thigh, and held it in his hand. It fit in his palm with room to spare.

"What's inside?" he asked, shaking it.

Katara let out a tiny yelp and put a hand on his arm to stop the motion. She gave him a warning look, though there was a smile in it, and said, "Open it and find out."

With careful fingers, Aang grasped the tiny lid and lifted. It would not open.

"Ah," Katara said, and handed him the smallest key he had ever seen.

The tiny key fit the tiny lock in the center of the tiny lid on the tiny box. It turned with an almost inaudible click, and the lid lifted as if on a spring.

Inside there were many gears, and what looked like a harp.

"Let me see it," Katara said, and took the box and key from him. Turning the box over, careful to keep her fingers away from the gears and wheels, Katara put the key into a hole drilled into the bottom, and began to wind. When she removed the key, put the lid back on and locked it, music began to play.

Aang listened in awe for a few moments, then laughed as he recognized the song.

"I know the melody," Katara said softly, as if reading his thoughts. "I think Zuko does too."

"So do I," Aang said, wondering if Toph would as well. Four children growing up in four different nations: had they all heard the same lullabies and wives' tales?

"You know," Katara said suddenly as the song began to slow, "my mom used to sing this to me and Sokka, but I can't remember the words anymore. The more time passes, the more things I forget."

Aang looked at her for a moment, before taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

"You remember what's important," he said. "I know you do."

She smiled, and across the clearing Zuko yelled, "I want my music box back in one piece!"

* * *

AN: Well, since they don't have radio-casette players, I fudged a little on this one. Oh well. 


	15. Oceans Moving

**Oceans Moving**

For #15 - Perfect Blue

* * *

There was something about the color blue that always eased the Avatar. More tranquil than the green mountains, more calming than the red flame, was the swirling blue water: rivers running downhill, oceans moving in waves beneath the rough kisses of the roaring wind. Black-blue skies at dusk spangled with tiny white pinpricks provided the perfect backdrop for meditation and practice. There was never a more relaxed moment than when the sky and water met in a seamless line - always just after the sun had set – so that the reflective blue of the ocean bounced up into the inky blue of the sky and the two blended together until the horizon was all deep water and dark night. 

That, Aang reasoned, was why he and Katara fit each other so well. They were natural compliments: air and water. The ocean couldn't move without the wind, and the wind was strongest out on the water.

He had never found a shade of blue quite like the one in her eyes. Sunlight through clean, cold water was a fair comparison. Sometimes the sky was almost a match. He had found a single flower once, some cousin of a morning glory that came dangerously close.

Those blue eyes were looking at him now, across the fire, her gentle stare unnoticed by their company until Toph began to make loud, wet kissing noises which prompted a whole slew of whistling and cat-calling from all assembled.

Katara's dark cheeks turned pink, and Aang looked up into the sky to hide the color leaking into his own face.

* * *

AN: I rather like this one, and I feel I should note that it was that only one written out of order. I wrote it just before #5. Go figure. And I'm half done! Yayzzles!  



	16. Promise Interlude 2

**Promise, Interlude 2**

For #16 - invincible; unrivaled

* * *

For as long as he cared to remember, which really wasn't all that far back (but as far as he _cared_), Katara had been there. She had been the first thing he had laid eyes when he had woken up to his new world, and she was usually the last thing he saw before he went to bed every night. She was in his every thought: even when everything else had been pushed to the back of his mind, when nothing existed but the Avatar, she was still there holding his hand. He never hesitated to put himself in danger, to take lives, to do any of the other unpleasant things needed to keep the balance as long as she was there to lend her silent strength. She was his best friend, his guiding light, and his ends to justify the means with which he had accomplished peace. As long as he could look at her –touch her, hold her, kiss her - he knew he had something to fight for. With her, he felt invincible. No matter who reproached him for his methods or his mercy, as long as she accepted him he knew he could endure anything. 

And now she was laying inside the healer's tent, an arrow in her side from an attack they hadn't even seen coming.

Katara had been in so many fights, seen so many battles. To think that one small arrow would put an end to the most cherished person in his life –

His held his breath, and prayed that he was dreaming.

* * *

AN: I'm back, and Aangsting it up for the downhill slope. Took a small break after the half-way mark, but now I'm revved up and ready to finish the series with a bang. 


	17. Competitive Streak

**Competitive Streak**

For #17 - kiloherts

* * *

As the frequency of the waves increased, so did Aang's desire to beat Katara. It wasn't out of any ill will, or a brash competitive streak; it was simply that he _knew_ she was holding her breath for the day he would finally surpass her. 

He was close: he knew it and he knew she knew. He knew she would be pleased when it happened; that she would pull herself up out of the water and smile brightly while she put her hands together and bowed in respect. He knew she wouldn't be able to contain her pride in him very long. She would probably whoop and holler and run crashing through the cold water to throw her arms around him, knocking him over and planting a kiss on his cheek just before they went under.

Lost in his daydream, Aang slipped. A wave got through, slapping him harshly across the face. Water got stuck in the back of his nose, and as Katara laughed he resolved to try harder next time: to think of nothing but the kiss he knew he would get when he could finally best her at waterbending.

He was close: he just knew it.

* * *

AN: Meh. 


	18. Fever

**Fever**

For #18 - "say ahh..."

* * *

"Say 'ahh...'" Katara murmured gently, one hand laying against Aang's red cheek. 

He tried, but the 'ahh' came out as more of a hacking cough, and Katara made a sympathetic noise as she began to stroke his forehead.

"Am I dying?" he asked weakly.

She laughed softly, and said, "No, I don't think it's all that bad. You just have a swollen throat."

"Are you sure? I _feel_ like I'm dying…"

"You're going to be fine," she soothed as she reached for her water skin and poured a little water into her cupped palm. She let some of it trickle through her fingers and onto Aang's forehead, and then she rubbed her hands together. When she had cooled the water, she laid her hands against his face.

"Try and sleep," she whispered, cold fingers still moving gently over his temples and cheeks, working through the heat to bring his fever down.

"Only if you're here when I wake up," he insisted weakly, smiling up at her.

"I'll be here," she said, and kissed his burning forehead. "I promise."

* * *

AN: Somewhat boring and unoriginal, but I like Katara being motherly. It's one of the things I love her for. 


	19. Promise, 3

**Promise 3**

For #19 - red

* * *

When the voice attached to the feet began to speak – when Aang remembered to breath again – he looked up to find Toph standing over him. Her unseeing eyes were turned to the patch of ground just inside the tent's entrance, head cocked slightly to listen to the soft, almost animalistic wails. She was crying too, and her clothing was flecked with the same dark red substance that was running down her chin from a split lip. She kept licking it in an absent-minded manner, as if she couldn't spare a single thought for anything that didn't involve praying her ears were lying to her. 

Zuko stood close behind her, slouched, as if together he and Toph could hold each other up. His good eye was swollen shut, and blood dripped down his fingers from a wound in his forearm. He watched it fall, blithely unaware of the rain pattering down on all of them.

"They're dead," Toph said suddenly. "All of them."

Zuko spat blood out onto the mud, and laid a hand on Toph's shoulder as she continued, "They tried to run – north, to the mountains – but they stayed on the ground the whole way. I could feel every step. They're all dead."

Then she began to sob.

Aang nodded numbly as he climbed to his feet. He knew that, in any other situation, he would have rebuked Toph's animosity and the callous way in which she spoke of the lives she had taken. He knew he would have done the exact same thing in her place, if he had been out there and she had come back with Katara and Sokka.

Together the three of them wandered inside the tent, Toph and Zuko to stand uselessly off to the side, Aang to wander up to Katara's bedside. They had laid her back down after wrapping the wound, and Sokka sat on the floor near the headboard, staring at his sister's face. Aang took up residence on the opposite side of the bed, pulling one of Katara's cool, limp hands into his own. He laid his head next to her, and brought the hand to his lips, kissing her bruised knuckles.

If she died, the Fire Nation was going to pay.

* * *

AN: I realize that last little line feels tacked on. I like it, so it stays. And about Toph and Zuko: interpret their actions however you choose. I _do_ see them being rather good friends, for some reason... Anywho, yeah, aangst, woot, woot! 


	20. A Little While

**A Little While**

For #20 - the road home

* * *

He passed three whole days in bed – arm burned, baked red, skin black and cracked- fevered days in a room that wasn't his, that smelled like brimstone and incense: like the rest of the Fire Nation. Katara sat with him when she could; Toph and Sokka took turns when she couldn't. Zuko visited once or twice, though he didn't really remember what had happened. 

He didn't remember much at all: fighting and flame, Ozai's words; his roar of triumph when he thought he'd beaten the young Avatar back, his delirious laugh when he realized he was defeated. All these things blurred together, smattered with screams: Katara's mostly, anguish and pain.

Then one day she kissed him when she brought him breakfast – cool, dry lips against his cheek that drove away the sleep – and his head cleared.

"Is it over?" he asked groggily, rubbing his eyes with the thick bandage on his right arm.

She pulled the arm away from his face, laid it gently by him on the bed.

"Yeah," she said gently, smiling as she gathered up the bowl of broth she had brought up from the kitchens. "It's over."

Looking around the room with bleary eyes, he asked, "What now?"

"Now you rest," she answered, dipping a wooden spoon into the bowl. "You rest, and you get better, and then when you're healed-"

"I'll take you home," he interjected with a sad smile.

She nodded, and offered him the spoonful of broth. He opened his mouth and accepted the spoon, rolled the broth around his tongue for a few moments before swallowing thoughtfully.

"Just for a little while," she said suddenly, stirring the bowl absently. "Just to see Gran Gran and the kids. I couldn't… I don't think I'm going to be able to stay there for long, not after everything that's happened, everything I've seen. You wouldn't want to stay there anyways, and I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to be away from you again…"

"I'll take you home," he finished for her, "but just for a little while."

And he gave her a real smile.

* * *

AN: Aang recovering from the battle with Ozai. Boy, I'd love to spoon-feed that kid... Ack! Bad fangirl thoughts! 


	21. Act and Feel

**Act and Feel**

For #21 - violence; pillage/plunder; extortion

* * *

Violence always made Aang's skin crawl, but he had long since learned to push the feeling away. It had been years – almost five of them – since he had felt scared or nervous going into a battle: since he had allowed himself the luxury of humanity when he was carrying out the deed they held as the highest sin. It was still murder, whatever his supporters said, and no matter what Katara did to ease his mind, it was still wrong. 

There was no emotion now: just the turbulence of adrenaline that had no outlet once the battle was through.

He'd come seriously close to death, this time. That shot – arrows: always arrows! – had come dangerously close to pinning him to the ground. By sheer luck, he had tripped over a rock, and the arrow had grazed his left arm just above the elbow. Warm, sticky blood was seeping slowly onto his bright yellow tunic, but he didn't even bother to bandage his arm. Something primal was beginning to rise up with the energy still pumping through his veins.

Aang contemplated his mortality on the way back to the tiny camp he and Katara had made earlier that day. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he did not raise a hand to wipe it away. So he was the Avatar; when the life he knew finally ended another would begin, and he would lose all the memories he had now; all the people he loved now.

He would lose Katara.

When he got back to camp, bloody and sweating and dirty, to find her sitting quietly by the fire, running a comb through her unbound hair while watching a spitted eggplant roasting over the flames, the same thing that had risen in him earlier – the need to act and feel – began to gnash it's teeth and claw at the cage that confined it.

So he let it out.

His staff fell from his hands to make a muffled thump against the loosely packed dirt. Katara started, and looked up with wide eyes that began to worry the moment they took in his injured arm and his dark countenance. She stood, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder, and opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she had been planning to say was warped into a muffled squeal when Aang grabbed her roughly and kissed her.

There were fingers in her hair, and a calloused hand grasping her chin, holding her still. She wouldn't have moved anyways. He only ever kissed her like this when he was scared for her: for what one of them would feel if the other should pass.

Katara's arms worked of their own volition and wrapped themselves tightly around his shoulders. She kissed him back, hard, standing on tiptoe to press herself closer.

The eggplant began to burn.

* * *

AN: I love being kissed, don't you? It's niiiiiiiice... 


	22. Promise 4

**Promise, 4**

For #22 - cradle

* * *

Flames burned hot and high around the Avatar as he twisted and turned and tried his hardest to avoid their raging, blistering grasp. His skin cracked and peeled and grew waxy and then charred before falling away to reveal muscle that did the same, over and over, until nothing but bone was left: bone that could not move or feel. Someone was screaming. 

Aang woke with a start and realized he was alone.

Well, not alone exactly. Katara was there, even if she wasn't really _there_. The world she was in was all her own. He wondered if she knew he was with her. The pallor of her skin was pale in the lantern light, but her cheeks were an angry, dangerous shade of red. Sweat poured down her neck, soaking into the pillow beneath her head, and her shallow, labored breathing filled every corner of the tiny tent. She was mumbling something, looking blearily at the low ceiling. Aang couldn't make out most of the words, but he only needed to understand one of them – she was calling for her mother.

She turned her head to watch as he stood to look around the tent. There were four sets of muddy footprints – two pairs in boots, one pair of slippers, one bare – and the faint scent of freshly cut herbs that the healer always left behind, but these were the only indications that they had had company. There were voices outside, talking in low tones; Sokka and the healer, by their tones.

Katara's hand, the one he had been holding, rose from the bed with much effort and gestured uselessly. It took him a few halting moments to realize she wanted him to sit beside her again, but when he took her hand and settled down on the floor she shook her head. There was a weak pressure on his wrist; the listless grasp of her fingertips trying to pull him up onto the bed.

In any other circumstance, at any other time, he would have frozen. Now he didn't even blink as he crawled in beside her and laid his head against her shoulder. The heat coming off her fevered skin bit clear through the cold that had settled into his rain-soaked limbs. She was going to burn out, and he would probably freeze to death when she wasn't around to keep him warm.

Drawing a deep, painful, shuddering breath, Katara turned her head, and Aang pushed himself up on one elbow just in time to watch the first pair of fresh tears fall from her cloudy eyes. She began to murmur again, soundlessly, echoing herself until he couldn't stand not knowing what was running through her mind and he brought his ear close to her moving lips.

"...wanna die I don't wanna die I don't…"

It became a mantra; she spoke it over and over, voiceless, again and again until the silence of the tent was filled and it was like she was screaming as loud as she could and he couldn't stand it –

So he kissed her; a real kiss this time, the way Yue had kissed Sokka, and not at all like the others they had shared– small, fleeting, almost meaningless in comparison to the one he gave her now.

She stopped her mumbling and closed her eyes, but the crying didn't stop and she didn't kiss him back.

* * *

AN: Well, we'r coming up on the end of Promise. Two more pieces, I think... 


	23. The Next Time

**The Next Time**

For #23 - candy

* * *

Katara, huddled off in her own little world, glanced surreptitiously over shoulder to check for unwanted eyes before pulling a small paper package from her pack and shoving it into her pocket as quickly as possible. She rose on giddy legs and, practically hopping with excitement, announced her desire to take a walk. 

Sokka asked why, Aang offered his company, Toph wished her well in a voice that was only slightly sarcastic, and Zuko called, "Don't get ambushed!" as she waved their words away and set out from camp.

When she was far enough away to feel safe with her secret, she took out the paper-wrapped package and unfolded it. Sitting in the innermost crease was a small wedge of grapefruit-flavored candied jelly.

Katara had been saving it for almost a week. She had originally bought 6 of them: one for herself and each of her friends (though she was tempted to keep Zuko's), and one to eat alone whenever she felt the need. The sky above her was bright and cloudless, the air was pleasantly warm, and the going had been easier the last few days: it was definitely candy time.

The first bite was always the best: she took a big one (almost half of the wedge) and let it sit on her tongue for a moment or two before chewing thoughtfully.

There was something sacred about candied jelly. She had only had it twice before in her life, and each time they had been gifts from a relative who had returned from travels to warmer climates. The candy had a nasty tendency to freeze in the cold weather down south, but this far to the northwest it was soft and chewy. It was divine.

So divine that she didn't hear Aang's footsteps or even notice his presence until she had taken the last bite and was in the process of sucking sugar from underneath her thumbnail.

He laughed, and that was what got her attention.

"What's so funny?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as he continued to chuckle, sitting down beside her.

"Nothing," he answered, beginning to blush. "You just looked like you were really enjoying the candy."

"It's very under-appreciated in this group," she quipped: he had made a face and spat it out into his hand.

"Maybe I'll like it better the next time I try it," Aang said with a shrug.

Katara nodded vaguely, then blushed as an idea sprang into her head: an idea that was incredibly intriguing but not entirely unwholesome.

"Close your eyes," she said, and it was Aang's turn to raise an eyebrow. She smiled innocently, and he shrugged again before obeying.

A hand – cold fingertips, warm palm – laid itself against the back of his neck and pulled him close until his nose touched hers, and he could feel her breath on his chin. His lips parted of their own accord, and it was at that exact moment that she chose to kiss him, sealing her mouth over his.

This was a deep kiss, a soft one: it was like being swallowed by warm, gentle water that covered everything in tiny waves, and just when Aang began to think that drowning really wouldn't be all that bad Katara pulled away.

Aang's mouth tasted like grapefruit, and he made a sour face.

"Not any better the second time around?" Katara asked sheepishly, still blushing.

Aang shook his head.

"Much better," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But I don't think I'm in love with them yet. Maybe the third time…"

She laughed, and kissed him again.

* * *

AN: Because if I eat chocolate and kiss my boyfriend he wants chocolate too... haha. and candied jelly is severely under-appreciated. it's sooooooooo good! 


	24. Very

**Very**

For #24 - good night

* * *

The air inside the house – not _their_ house, because they didn't have one yet, and wouldn't for a few more moons – was pleasantly cool, carrying with it a wet quality from the gentle storm still brewing outside the walls. There was a fire lit in his room: it threw their shadows onto the wall, where they flickered into strange shapes before coalescing back into the recognizable outlines of two people, a young man and his lover, in each others arms. 

It was a good night for new beginnings: early spring, late hour, two bodies with one intent, and not much else, between them; a good night for soft words and even softer kisses coupled to clumsy fingers and burning cheeks; two pairs of unsteady hands that gave and guided, each in their turn, before finding holds at shoulders (his) and hips (hers) as breath vanished and the heart leapt and they discovered that the childhood they'd thought long gone had not vanished until that very moment. Neither of them was sad to see it go, and few short eternities later she lay back, and reflected that it was a _very_ good night.

* * *

AN: ... well, that's as close as I'm ever gonna get to smut. and it's a little _too_ close, if you want my real opinion. Reviewers, please note: the author is mildly embarassed. Enjoy. 


	25. Good Answer

**Good Answer **

For #25 - fence

_xxxxx_

"I really don't know, though," Katara murmured, gazing at two pairs of slippers – the two she had chosen from the dozens housed in the marvelous little shop in one of Ba Sing Se's richest districts.

"The blue," she murmured lightly to herself, "or the white."

"Ya know," Toph said easily to Aang as the two of them sat sipping tea a little ways off, "if I'd known she was gonna make such a big deal about this, I woulda bought y'all some dishes, or a tea set or something."

Aang fought the urge to nod, and replied, "This is a good gift. She deserves it, anyways."

"What she deserves is a nice dress, not us following her around for four hours while she picks the shoes that go with it," Toph argued, setting her teacup down and waving away the maid who attempted to refill it. "All these seamstresses and cobblers are gonna have a field day with everything she's going to put them through. I bet they never figured they'd be making bridal clothes for a water tribe girl."

Aang just nodded absently, his gaze straying to the poor man who was standing behind Toph's chair. Taro was one of the Bei Fong's numerous servants, and had been commandeered for this small trip to serve as a beast of burden for Katara's flighty and erratic buying whims. He was tall, and strong - two invaluable traits, because Aang was fairly certain that no ordinary man would've been able to carry all the things that had been purchased that day. Taro, somehow, managed it.

"There's a kiss," Toph said suddenly, and Aang started, sloshing tea over the rim of his cup onto his hands. He looked at her strangely, though he knew she couldn't see his expression, and she continued, "In the Earth Kingdom marriage ceremony. The couple exchanges a kiss. I was just wondering what ceremony you were going to use."

Aang looked briefly at Katara, who smiled back at him when she caught his eye, and replied quietly, "As long as I end up with a wife, I couldn't care less."

Toph nodded appreciatively, a tiny smile creeping across her face, and murmured, "Good answer."

_xxxxx_

AN: Has the spacer bar been freaking out on anyone else? I couldn't get it to work... Anyway, yeah, me being silly and girly. If you can't find the fence, don't beat yourself up. It's barely there.


	26. Her Face

**Her Face**

For #26 - If only I could make you mine...

xxxxx

It wasn't often that Aang allowed himself to luxuriate in the rather wanton satisfaction of knowing – beyond any shadow of a doubt - that the most beautiful girl he had ever met had grown into the most stunningly attractive woman he had ever laid eyes on and fallen madly in love with him long before she had even been old enough to marry.

There was also the fact that she was an impossibly selfless, kind, and caring individual, but he knew these things like he knew the sky was blue. He knew her so well, it seemed, that the only thing about her still left to his imagination was her physical shell. He was well acquainted with her generous ways and her indomitable spirit, and was more than eager to acquaint himself with the rest of her body.

Of course, his thoughts at that exact moment were neither so eloquent nor callous, as he was much too busy trying to stop himelf from staring down the front of her dress. He knew innately, somehow, that she would knock him into next week if she caught him.

Though, when he thought about it (which he would do later), he really couldn't be blamed for his actions. What had she expected, wearing _that_ dress?

_That_ dress happened to be almost exactly the same as the one Toph was wearing (the same as many other Earth Kingdom ladies in the room) but Aang would have gouged his own eyes out before looking at Toph as anything but a very close friend – and really, she was still much too skinny for the height she had gained (which still left her standing almost a head shorter than Katara) – and he hadn't looked twice at any of the other women.

The view down her dress was much more breathtaking, and all this mingling was wearing through his already thin attention span.

Katara smiled blithely as she chatted with another young woman (about her age, and almost pretty except for a rather large nose), Aang glanced up just in time to notice that girl was staring at him in that smug, knowing manner Toph liked to apply to anything involving him and Katara. He briefly thanked his good luck that she was not anywhere within hearing range, sending a quick glance to the dark sky just visible through the willowy curtains of the balcony doors –

- and caught Sokka's eye on the way down.

Sokka did _not_ look happy.

So naturally, when Katara's (larger and much more intimidating) brother chose to leave Suki's side and meander his way over – just a little too nonchalantly for the airbender's comfort – Aang knew he was in for a serious beating.

Thankfully, Sokka didn't call Aang's wandering eyes to Katara's attention. Unfortunately, he chose instead to ask to speak to the young Avatar outside – alone.

Katara looked at her brother oddly, before shrugging and going back to her conversation with the girl whose nose was much too big for her face.

Aang followed Sokka outside, and swallowed what was probably his heart creeping into his throat.

If time had given Sokka anything, it was height: height he used to his advantage when he turned slowly and seemed to grow so that he filled every corner of Aang's eyesight.

"I can understand that, on a few select occasions, you may feel the need to hold my sister's hand," Sokka began in a low voice that promised pain if there were any interruptions. "I can accept that you might want to put an arm around her, and I can even stomach the idea that you probably want to kiss her."

Aang gulped again, and shrank back as a strange fire flared inside Sokka's cool blue eyes.

"But," he continued icily, "if I ever – and I do mean _ever_ – catch you looking down her dress, or at any part of her that isn't her face or her hands, with _that_ look on your face, there _will_ be blood."

Aang had been nodding in silent agreement through most of the speech, but Sokka felt the need to ask, "Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes," Aang squeaked, flinching as Sokka threw an arm around his shoulders and led him back inside.

"I'm glad we understand eachother," the warrior intoned, patting Aang on the chest before leaving to find Suki.

"What'd he want?" Katara asked once Big Nose had begged off further conversation to get herself another drink.

"Nothing," Aang responded with a nervous laugh.

The rest of the night his eyes stayed glued to her face.

xxxxx

AN: I dunno how well this is goign to go over. But come ON! You KNOW he's goign to try it! EVERY guy I've dated has looked down my dress, no matter how sweet and respectful they are. I think maybe they really can't help it...


	27. Promise Interlude 3

**Promise, Interlude 3**

For #27 - overflow

xxxxx

"You know what he's willing to do for you," a gentle voice soothed as cool, familiar hands stroked thought her hair. "He loves you very much."

"I know, mom," she responded with a sigh, and turned her face into her mother's shoulder to hide.

"Why are you so sad?" her mother asked knowingly. "What happened to my smiling, happy girl?"

"She went out to see the world," came Katara's muffled response, "and she discovered what dark, terrible place it is."

"Oh, my love," her mother chided with a click of the tongue. "Don't say things you don't mean. You can see the good in the world."

"I can," Katara admitted. "But what happens when the bad outweighs the good?"

"The bad will always outweigh the good," the soft voice responded. "It is the mark of a truly caring soul, to be able to look past what is wrong to see what is right. You can't leave them yet. What would your brother do without you? What would the Avatar do?"

"I'm so tired of everything!" Katara cried, tears springing to her eyes and she pushed herself closer, seeking comfort. "I just want to lay down and rest! Just for awhile!"

"I know," her mother replied, kissing her hair. "I know, but the world is full of work to do."

"Someone else can do it," Katara pouted and closed her eyes.

The tongue clicked again, and the comforting voice said, "I taught you better than that. You can't leave your share for the others, and you know the job is easier with more hands to help. They won't last without you."

"They will too," Katara argued, leaning heavily on her mother's warm, encompassing presence.

"You're not ready to die," the warmth insisted, even as it drew her in. "Some part of you knows that. It won't let you go."

"You could make it let go."

There was a sound like water and sad laughter.

"I won't," her mother said. "It would be wrong, and selfish of me."

"Will you stay until I'm asleep?" Katara asked with a yawn, eyes still glued shut and consciousness failing.

"Yes," a gentle voice soothed, as cool, familiar hands stroked through her hair. "Always."

xxxxx

AN: I was feeling silly and remembering ow much I love my mommy. Thus, that's pretty much what Katara is doing... in her fever-induced dreams...


	28. Good for You

**Good for You**

For #28 - Wada Calcium CD3

xxxxx

Katara was clearing dishes from Aang's bedside table when a small earthenware cup caught her eye. It was full of milk that had somehow been missed during the meal.

Or, knowing Aang, what was more likely was that he had ignored it.

"What's this?" she asked him congenially, holding the cup up for his inspection.

Aang, who had been reading, looked up and then sank back guiltily into the covers. He dropped the book he had been reading into his lap, and held his injured arm against his chest in attempts to make himself look even more helpless.

"Kataraaaa," he whined, sinking into the pillows. "You know I don't like milk."

"And you know it's good for you, so drink it anyways," she retorted, holding the cup out to him.

"No," he said easily, and turned his head away.

"Drink it," she ordered again, sitting on the bed and holding the cup under his nose.

"No!" he refused again, in harsher tones.

"Drink. The. Milk," she ground out.

"NO!" he hollered like the injured child he was.

She glanced at the bedspread, her eyebrows drawn down in thought, and then she smiled. Laying the milk down on the table, Katara moved – crawled, slunk: Aang couldn't really find a verb to fit the motion – up the bed until she was laying on the pillows with him, her body pressing against him from shoulder to knees.

He had to swallow when her lips moved against his ear and she murmured, "Please drink the milk."

It was all he could do to shake his head.

She laid a hand against his jaw, and pulled him around to look at her. She smiled sweetly, and said, "Please?"

Aang started to shake his head but the look in her eyes was just too much.

"Fine!" he grumbled loudly. "I'll drink the milk."

She kissed him, hopped from the bed, and handed him the cup of milk all in one smooth motion.

As she swept from the room, and Aang drank down the milk, he couldn't help feeling like he'd been taken advantage of.

xxxxx

AN: It's a calcium supplement. I couldn't think of anything. Props to the reviewer who can guess where the first half of the scene was stolen from.


	29. Promise, Epilogue

**Promise: Epilogue**

For #29 - the sound of waves**  
**

xxxxx

Aang awoke to bright sunlight in his eyes and the sound of sloshing water. The tent flap had been thrown open, and rolling over to look out it revealed the sun to be above the treetops, burning clear and high. Rolling over again, he discovered that the low bed in the tent's far corner was empty.

And if she was where he thought she was, someone was going to get a very stern talking-to.

He yawned, rolled off his tiny (rather uncomfortable) cot, and made his way out into the fresh new day. He scratched absently at his belly button and pondered how best to remedy the situation he now found himself in – the same situation he had been finding himself in every morning for almost the past week.

Sure enough, standing in the river's shallows and doing _exactly_ what the healer had told her not to do, was Katara. She was still clad in the whit linen tunic and loose breeches typically given to recovering patients, but the legs and sleeves had been rolled up and back to keep them away from the bauble of water moving around her body in a complex pattern.

"It's just a breathing form," she reminded Aang as he approached, seeming to know what was on his mind. "I'm not going to hurt myself."

"So what happens if you do?" he asked blearily, not all too sure how he was supposed to coax her out of the water. He imagined it was going to be a bit like convincing a fish it could live on land: someone was going to get upset unless he was very, very careful.

"Nothing," she replied easily, her concentration never wavering. "Because I'm not going to hurt myself."

"Katara," he said with a sigh, stepping into the water with her. When her hands moved into reach again, he grabbed them gently. Without her will, the water fell uselessly back into the stream.

"Please," he pleaded gently, trying to look her in the eye – she kept turning away, a playful smile flitting back and forth across her features. "You may not feel like you need to rest," he continued, slightly annoyed with her flighty behavior, "but… But _I _need you to."

He finally caught her eye, and she gave him another fleeting smile, before tilting her head towards her shoulder, as if to consider his plea.

"Alright," she announced slowly, nodding her head, "but on one condition."

She leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially into the shell of his ear – which tickled, and made him think thoughts that weren't entirely wholesome – and he couldn't help the blush that spread across his cheeks at her demand.

"Oh, come on!" she laughed, "It's not _that_ bad!"

"No," Aang agreed. "You're right. It's perfectly acceptable. It's just… I don't- I mean, we've never-"

"Well, if it's that big a deal," she began, pulling her hands out of his and drawing another vein of water from the river's endless flow.

"No!" he interjected, grabbing her hands back into his own. "I mean, yes. All right. Whatever you want. Just so long as you lay down."

A few moments later Aang found himself in a place he had never really been before, but had always hoped he might one day visit: that place happened to be the bed of a young woman with whom he was desperately in love. Never mind that they were completely clothed, or that she was falling into a drowsy, medicine-induced sleep, or that he _had_ been there, some days before - when he'd thought she was going to leave him forever. Fundamentally, at its very core, the experience was everything he knew he would ever need to be happy: the two of them, together and well.

He was lying on his back, sharing her pillow, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. She favored her right side still, and had thrown her left arm over his stomach. In the heat of the midday, she had thrown open her tunic, and the angry, red gash – edges still stitched together - stood out starkly from the smooth, dark plains of her waist. It would scar, undoubtedly, even with the best healer's aid, and it hurt Aang to look at it and think about what had occurred.

It hurt Katara too, he knew. When she had finally been able to rise, to sit up and lift her head, and she had seen the wound, she had cried: not out of pain or fear or anger. She had cried for what little had remained of her vanity, and then she'd kept crying because she'd felt bad for crying in the first place. Later, she would chalk it up to the massive amount of sedatives and pain suppressants in her system, but Aang knew there was a bit of truth in her tears, however jaded.

"Hey," she said lazily, eyelids falling even as she spoke. "I love you too, by the way."

His easy breath became a sharp gasp, and he had to sit up to keep from coughing violently.

"What'd you say?" he asked breathlessly, looking down at Katara as she ignored his physical response to her question, and chose instead to cuddle with the pillow.

"You said you loved me," she responded, blinking owlishly up at him. "Or, I thought you did… Maybe I was halluci-"

"No," he interrupted quietly, reaching out to stroke her hair back from her forehead. "I did. I do."

She gave him another sleepy smile, and said, "Good. I thought you did. And I love you too."

He smiled, and leaned over to kiss her. Her arms came up around his neck and drew him back down to the bed, where he again wrapped an arm around her shoulders and laid back against her pillow. She kissed his cheek, then his chin, and then she fell asleep.

xxxxx

AN: Holy crap, this is waaaaay too long to be a one-shot! And yeah, I copped out on an ending. I felt fluff was needed, since I'd basically put the characters through a minor hell. I owed it to them, and to myself. I don't usually do angst, anyways. So that's it, then. Promises is over. Thank god. One more to go, and then I'm done! YAY!


	30. Love's Path

**Love's Path **

For #30 - kiss**  
**

xxxxx

There was something so inherently simple in a kiss: some strange intrinsic value that couldn't be found in any other act. There was some sort of strange gratification in it that could hold it's own against even the most intimate of moments. It was as if a part of the soul reached out, through breath and life, to search for the soul to which it was coupled.

It was one of the better ways to pass a lazy afternoon, a rainy morning in doors, or a late night under the sky. It was the best wake-up call, and the most preferable bedtime send-off. It made for a good appetizer before dinner, and an even better dessert afterwards. It was able to sate thirst and it filled the gnawing emptiness of hunger better than any meal ever could.

Kissing warped time – minutes into hours - and space – one body where there had been two - and played with the senses. Passing glances found glazed eyes and swollen lips that mirrored their own before lids closed and mouths melded together again. Hands and fingers danced across shoulders and backs, over spinal cords and hipbones and kneecaps, eliciting groans and sighs – small, content noises that moved from mouth to mouth, felt rather than heard. The space between them vanished until one body was all the other could touch and taste and hear until it was no longer kissing: it was love.

Fear, doubt, aggression, and anger: these things fled in love's path; and courage, faith, hope, and honor traveled in its wake. He knew these things as he knew the sunrise: it simply _was_, and it went on whether he willed it or not.

There was so much of it that sometimes it overwhelmed him, but that feeling of drowning – being in too deep – was nothing against the deep, throbbing ache that being apart created. It was like hitting the ground - air left the lungs, the heart jolted and stopped – and nothing was right again until they were together: until he could kiss her.

A quiet voice interrupts his reverie, asks what he's thinking about.

He tells her the truth, because even though he knows his devotion overwhelms her – like her trust overwhelms him – he loves her too much to say it's nothing. It's everything: everything he has, everything he wants, and everything he needs.

She gives him a look that is half happiness; half adoration – though he can see the child in her shrinking from the power of his emotions – then lays herself across his chest.

When she kisses him, the world begins to fade.

xxxxx

AN: Well, that's that. It's done. No more 30kisses. I can't say I'm sad, because I'm really glad to haev this monkey off my back, but I suppose a part of me weeps to see it go. I want to extend my gratitude to the many people who reviewed. It's because of y'all that I churned 'em out this fast. Really, I couldn't have done it without you!


End file.
